Chronicles of the Red King #3: Leopards' Gold (22 page)

“Knives from bones,” the king said, smiling at last. “Llyr has a way with bones. You are a brave boy, Tolomeo. I’m proud of you.”

I wish I had done more
, thought Petrello.

The boats were beginning to arrive, and by now, some of the knights had recovered enough to leap into the water. They helped Tumi and Karli draw the boats up onto the shore, and then came bounding toward the king. Edern was the first. He rushed up to his old friend with a joyful roar, hugging him so fiercely, the king had to laugh as he struggled for breath.

Petrello and Tolly stepped back into the trees as the other knights came splashing through the water. The king embraced every one of them, and for a while the air rang with their cheerful shouts and raucous laughter. They were together again and the evil in the forest had been destroyed. Many of them hadn’t seen their old friends Karli and Tumi for many years and were overjoyed to be reunited with them.

The jovial mood couldn’t last. As soon as the king began to tell the knights what his sons had described to him, their faces fell. Some muttered oaths and shook their fists; others fingered their sword hilts and their bags of arrows. In a few moments, the crowd of happy men had become a troop of angry soldiers, swearing vengeance.

The king’s voice rose above the clamor of his knights. “We will reclaim our castle. Thorkil has shown his hand and will be removed. But without horses and my camel, we are many days from home. So tonight I shall fly to Melyntha; I’m sure Osbern’s stables are well stocked. As for Gabar, he has a charmed life and will return.”

Tolly whispered, “Can he really persuade twenty horses to leave their stables?”

“Believe it!” said Petrello.

Mabon, the archer, suddenly spoke up. “What about the queen?”

“I’ll find the queen,” the king said gravely. “If Osbern has taken her, he won’t survive our next meeting.” He noticed the boys were watching him from the trees. “Petrello, Tolomeo, bring us some food. That little house won’t hold twenty knights, some of them as heavy as horses.”

The brothers followed Karli and Tumi into the house on stilts, where Sila handed them a basket of dried fish. She only had one apple, but handing it to Petrello, she said, “Your father will know what to do with this.”

When the food had been delivered, the king sent the boys back to the house. He had much to discuss with his knights, and his sons must rest after their long battle with the Damzel and her demons.

“When will you go to Melyntha, Father?” asked Petrello.

“Nightfall,” he replied.

“Will you bring our mother back?” asked Tolly.

The king looked away from them. He took a breath and said, “I can’t lie to you, my sons. You might not see your mother just yet.”

If they had other questions, they couldn’t ask them. They returned to the house on stilts, and when they had eaten, they laid their heads on the slightly damp cushions and fell asleep, oblivious to the chatter of the women and the noisy chorus of other children.

It was dusk when Ketil woke them. “A creature has arrived,” he said excitedly. “Our mother says it’s a camel.”

H
alf awake, Petrello murmured, “A camel?”

“A CAMEL?” cried Tolly, leaping up, and now Petrello was wide-awake.

“Mother saw it first,” said Ketil. “She opened the door to call to our father, who is out there with the king, and she saw this creature.”

“Where? Where?” Petrello ran to the open door where Tolly was standing.

The moon had all but disappeared and the sky was beginning to lose its nighttime color. The lake water glittered with reflected light from small fires dotted around the shore. The knights had left them for a moment while they gathered about the king and his precious camel. The boys’ spirits lifted. If Gabar was safe, then so, perhaps, were others.

Petrello was about to climb down the ladder when Sila put an arm across his chest.

“No, Petrello. Listen!”

There was a great commotion in the trees: a thunder of hooves, the whinnying and snorting of many horses, and then, suddenly, a white mare galloped into view. Her rider was smaller than a knight and wore a brown fur cap.

“Mother!” cried Petrello.

The mare was followed by Amadis, riding Sir Edern’s brown stallion. A crowd of horses came jostling and nudging their way behind him. When they saw the lake, they trotted to the water and began to drink.

The king ran to his wife and lifted her down.

“We must go to them,” Petrello pleaded, pushing Sila’s arm away.

“I can’t stop you now,” she said with a smile.

The boys clambered down the ladder and ran through the water without bothering to remove their boots. There was such a crush around their mother they had to punch their way through the knights.

“Not so rough, young man!” Mabon exclaimed, lifting both boys into the air.

The queen laughed and held out her arms to them. They ran to her, and when she had hugged them, they noticed that her hands were scratched and her tunic smelled of leather and wolf and horse.

“Mother, where have you been?” asked Tolly.

She drew them to the warmth of the fire and they sat one on each side of her while she told them about her fight with Osbern D’Ark, and how Amadis and his wolves had rescued her.

The king and his knights stood about the fire and listened, interrupting the story with grunts of approval and alarm. Petrello noticed that Enid had woken up, and, seeing her friend Gabar, was affectionately nudging his long legs with her snout, while he bent his head and nuzzled her.

“You should have seen our mother,” said Amadis. “She could overcome us all in a sword fight.”

“I’m aware of that,” the king said, smiling at his wife. “Is Osbern dead, then?”

The queen shook her head. “I had to make a bargain.” She put her hand in a leather pouch hanging from her belt and drew out something flat and glistening. “The Seeing Crystal!” she said, holding it up. “Osbern gave it to me in exchange for his life.”

Sighs of wonder and relief came from the group of knights, but Sir Edern muttered, “He deserved to die.”

“I had to honor my word,” the queen said solemnly.

Amadis stepped closer to the fire, and said, “As the villain rode away, he gave us a parting gift, a warning that he knew would be too late to save us.”

“Save us?” said the king.

“Oh, Timoken,” sighed the queen. “That wretch sent a message to the king of England, telling him where he could find an enchanted castle, a splendid castle, better by far than any of his own. A thousand soldiers are coming to take our precious home. Without the crystal, the wizards will be unprepared. They will know nothing until the army is at our gate, and then it will be too late for Llyr and Eri to reach the spell-wall and bring about a Vanishing.”

Everyone could hear the low growl that rumbled in the king’s throat. He paced about while his knights, his wife, and his sons watched him, waiting for a sign, for advice, a plan, anything to give them hope.

At last, without a word, he went to Gabar and, speaking very softly, stroked his woolly neck. The camel rumbled back at him and slowly began to crouch.

For a moment, they thought that the king had given up, that the task ahead was too hopeless to attempt. They even began to wonder where their next home would be. Petrello thought of Guanhamara and his aunt. What would happen to them?

All at once, the king turned from his camel, and said, “Even on horseback we will be too late.”

Did he mean to fly, they wondered? And what then? Could he conquer an entire army on his own?

“Petrello, come here,” said the king.

“Me, Father?” Petrello felt foolish. All eyes had turned to him.

“We’re going to fly home,” his father told him. “I need you to come with me.”

Petrello laid his hand on his chest. He meant to ask if what he heard could be true. But he found it impossible to speak.

“Quickly, my son,” the king commanded. “Climb onto the camel’s back.”

In a fog of bewilderment, Petrello walked up to Gabar. “But what can I do?” he whispered.

“We’ll find out,” the king quietly replied. “Now, onto the saddle.”

Petrello climbed onto Gabar’s wooden saddle, and the king sat in front of him. Petrello clasped his father around the waist, the red cloak warm and comforting under his hands.

The group of knights were staring at Petrello, some incredulous, others merely puzzled. And yet the queen was smiling, as if she had guessed what the king intended and knew that it was right. She stood with her hands on Tolly’s shoulders, and when Petrello caught his brother’s eye, Tolly grinned and nodded, as if to say, “I believe in you.”

The king made a soft animal sound and Gabar lifted into the sky. The forest canopy receded and the dawn wind brushed Petrello’s cheek as they raced through the air. He buried his head in his father’s cloak and closed his eyes, his mind in turmoil. What could he do? His trust in the king was absolute, and yet he was afraid that he could never do what his father hoped.

The light was increasing every minute, soon the sun began to show above the distant trees. Beneath them, the vast forest rippled like an emerald sea. And then the sixteen towers of the Red Castle came into view.

They were flying directly toward the South Gate, and as they drew nearer, Petrello looked east where the town of Rosemellon sat in its small valley. The trees between the castle and the town were not so dense and now he could see the movement of mounted soldiers on the wide track, their helmets a dull gray in the early light. The foot soldiers had left the track, however, and were beginning to fan out into the trees.

“Do you see them, Petrello?” asked the king.

“There are so many,” he breathed.

“Too many,” said his father.

As they approached the castle, they saw the door into the garden move very slightly. Through its narrow opening, a figure emerged cautiously. It was Eri in his blue cloak, his white hair uncovered, his long staff glimmering with magic.

“He’ll never cover the whole distance of the spell-wall,” muttered the king.

They were above the garden when Eri saw them. He lifted his staff in greeting, and the king called, “Go back, Eri. Go back!”

Eri stood motionless, his hand shading his eyes. Gabar flew right above him and then over the castle wall. He landed in the second courtyard, where a sinister silence greeted them. Llyr stood inside the door, a knife ready in his hand. He ran to the camel as they landed.

Before Llyr could speak, the king lifted his hand, and said, “Get your grandfather inside. An army is almost at our gate.” He slipped from the camel and lifted Petrello down.

Llyr was on his way back to the door when Eri came in, grunting, “Whatever next? I must …”

“Too late, Grandfather.” Llyr closed the great door behind the old man and quickly drew the iron bar across it.

“What’s happened?” Eri asked, glancing at Petrello. “Where are the others?”

“All safe,” replied the king. “They’re on their way, but we came on ahead. My sons have told me everything.” He touched Petrello’s head. “Is Zobayda safe? And the children?”

The wizards exchanged glances, and Eri said, “Safe, Timoken, though Borlath is confined in the Hall of Corrections. The guards are all loyal, but some have been killed. Chimery is dead and Thorkil is, for the moment, locked in his office with most of his men. Friar Gereint has found his sword and stands guard outside the door. A few of the chancellor’s men are” — he gave a nervous shrug — “somewhere about. But the leopards keep watch, and no one can get past Llyr and his knives.”

“Your daughter Guanhamara likes to spend time on the battlements,” said Llyr. “She’s up there before dawn most days. It was she who told us an army was approaching, or we would never have known.”

“I made Llyr wait to guard the entrance,” said Eri, “while I went alone to walk the spell-wall and begin the Vanishing.”

“Dear friend, you would never have completed it.” The king laid his hand on Eri’s shoulder. “We have learned that the king of England has sent his army to take our castle” — he looked at Petrello — “so my son and I have come to stop them.”

The wizards looked at Petrello and nodded gravely. They didn’t seem surprised to hear that he would be helping to defeat an army of a thousand men.

“A few knives would be welcome, Llyr,” said the king, “to bring the soldiers out of the trees. Do you have enough?”

“A sackful,” said Llyr, his eyes gleaming. “I’ll use Princess Zobayda’s tower.”

“No time to lose,” the king told him.

Before Petrello had time to grasp what was happening, his father had seized him around the waist and they were flying up to the Royal Tower. When the king set him down, he was so breathless, he could hardly stand.

“Look, Petrello! See what we’re up against!” The king pointed to the east.

Petrello staggered to his father’s side and peered through an opening in the wall. His vision was blurred, his head foggy with shock and the long journey through the air. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the trees below. He knew the soldiers were there, but the army appeared to have doubled in size. The glint of armor spread almost to the town, north and south it bobbed and quivered in the early sun. Soon it would burst out of the trees and cover the meadow and the garden.

The king removed his cloak and swung it through the air, his familiar chant filling Petrello’s ears. Black clouds darkened the sky; rain, heavy as iron, thudded onto the trees. A thunderbolt tore into the approaching soldiers, and Petrello could hear their screams. For a moment the army halted, and then marched again, their shields above their heads, the rain denting the metal but not harming them. The king began to roar, and the rain stopped. A bolt of lightning struck the treetops. Fire spread through the branches and they fell, blazing onto the army below. Some of the men dropped to the ground, others came on.

There were wagons on the track, carrying machinery that Petrello had heard of but never seen: battering rams, giant catapults, and siege towers.

A knife whistled through the air and, turning his head, Petrello saw Llyr on Zobayda’s tower, hurling his magic at the army. The knives struck home, piercing breastplates, helmets, and gauntlets, but the soldiers still came on. There were archers among them and a sudden shower of arrows swept toward Zobayda’s tower. Most fell short, but Llyr disappeared; whether he had been hit or was hiding, they couldn’t tell. Another arrow landed behind the king, a burning rag was tied to it and nearly scorched his cloak. He stamped the flames out, but now the sky was full of burning arrows and the army was in the meadow.

“It’s time, Petrello!”

He heard his father’s voice and wanted to shrink until he was no bigger than a beetle. What could he do?

“What am I to do, Father?” he asked. “I have no talent, there’s nothing …”

“You can move the air, my son. You have always had the gift, but you have never had to use it — until now.”

“Move the air?” Petrello murmured.

“You’ve heard of hurricanes, typhoons, cyclones. They’re made of moving air: great winds that can sweep men into the sky, winds that can uproot trees and carry houses. You can bring a wind like that, Petrello.”

“Can I?” he whispered.

“Wish for it!”

Petrello felt a hand on his shoulder. He sensed his father’s strength warm on his back, racing through his arms and into his hands. He moved his fingers, opened and closed them, and a breeze came out of them. He heard a moan, and then a roar as a wind tore over him, slamming him against the wall. Clouds of dust flew into his eyes, and he closed them and sank to his knees. “Hurricane!” he croaked.

With his eyes closed, he imagined he was quite alone with a wind that was all his, a wild creature that he loved. And while it raged about him, a small being came into his mind’s eye; a hairless creature with mothlike wings and huge saffron-colored eyes. It darted through the trees, holding a giant spider’s web that floated behind it, glittering with droplets of water. The image was gone in a second, and he heard the king saying, “Look, Petrello! Look what you have done!”

“The wind,” he groaned.

“The wind has left us; it’s with the army now. Look!” The king put his hands under Petrello’s shoulders and lifted him to his feet.